


Kaleidoscopic

by philcollins



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3179711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philcollins/pseuds/philcollins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a Six Sentence AU Meme on livejournal. Different AU takes on the Doctor/Clara, each in 6 sentences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Office Hours

 

 

His office isn't in one of the newer buildings on campus but rather squirreled away at the end of a warren of corridors in the old Sciences building, where the stairs are uneven and the wainscoting pine. The office smells like too many old books jammed into mahogany bookcases, tangerine peels, the Doctor's spicy aftershave - and, right now, sex. Her fingers claw at his desktop, her cheek pressed against its smooth surface, shallow grunts forced from her throat as he fucks her from behind. She wishes she could turn over, dig her fingers into his silvery, surprisingly lush hair, instead of scrabble for purchase against wood, but he said, "Do as you are told," so she did, pulling up her short skirt and bending over. He makes her come, skillful with his long fingers, then tells her in no uncertainty terms, as he sits down in his chair, that office hours are over for the day. She'll have her revenge on him tomorrow, in lecture, sitting in the front row and not wearing any knickers.


	2. The Couch

He tells her to take off her robe and she obliges, the draught in his open room, so full of light, and his impassive, appraising gaze puckering her naked skin with gooseflesh, puckering her nipples. Something in his icy blue stare, something almost physical in its weight, makes her insides squeeze, makes her feel wanton and yet far less brave than her words belie when she asks, "How do you want me?" He tells her to lay back on the sofa like she's just been thoroughly fucked and a part of her thrills dangerously at his coarse tongue, and so she obliges, splaying herself out before him, wondering how many others he's had just like this. He asks if she's ready and her breath is fast when she answers that she is. One long, tapered finger ghosts over her chin, feather-light or perhaps even imaginary, and he tells her to part her lips, and she does, wetting them for him. He goes to his easel, picks up his charcoal pencil, and begins his work.


	3. The On-Call Room

For some reason, all the girls on the floor are afraid of him ("Probably the eyebrows," he told her, half-serious) - except for her, of course. The other girls don't know him like Clara does - don't know how to access the rusty, faltering sweetness underneath the scowling mien, don't know how self-doubt plagues him in his darkest hours ("Am I good man?" he asked her once, leaving her dumbstruck), and definitely don't know he has a bit of a soft, poochy tum...which she secretly adores. If the other girls could see her now, wrapped up in his gangly, pale arms on this narrow bunk, his long fingers combing through her loose hair, what in god's name would they think?  

Loud, insistent beeping suddenly startles her out of almost-sleep - his pager going off, calling him, calling them, back to the real world beyond that locked door.  

"See you in the operating theatre, Nurse Oswald?" he asks her, checking the pager.  

"Indeed you will, Doctor," she replies, reaching for her scrubs.


End file.
